Shine, Coconut Moon-- Neesha Meminger

This is one of those books I wanted to like, probably had too high of expectations for, and was subsequently disappointed by.

After 9/11, Samar's uncle Sandeep shows up on her doorstep with a desire to reconnect. Samar was raised by her mother, who has not spoken to her family for years. What follows is an identity-fest: Samar wants to know her family, her Sikh roots, and who her friends really are. It's also got all the post-9/11 themes: hate crimes and discrimination, special registration and other policies, and acting as an ambassador for your religion/ nationality/ ethnicity. At the same time, we have token treatment of how parents raise their kids differently, teen dating violence, and personal identity.

In subject matter, I think it takes on a lot of weighty themes but can't quite carry them all. That said, the book takes an approach on a few things that I really respect: discussing proximity to hate crime, linking the targeting of Sikhs and Muslims, and exploring latent racism.

I wouldn't describe the book as "literary." It's a quick, chatty read with little distinction in its narration, dialogue, or characters. It strikes me as easily dated, as it mentionins specific websites, songs, and movies-- readers who may have appreciated those references are perhaps a little old now to be reading this book. I'm still looking for the perfect post-9/11 book, but perhaps this will do it for some young readers.

Bog Child-- Siobhan Dowd

I was eager to read another of Siobhan Dowd's books, as I loved the last one so much. Now I am wishing I hadn't picked this one. This slim book took me forever because I had difficulty coming back to it. I only kept going because there are two interesting things at work here: the book is set in Ireland during the Troubles, and the story attempts to bridge two worlds across a time gap.

Fergus and his uncle Tally are cutting peat when Fergus discovers a body-- apparently that of of a child-- buried in the bog. Fergus has a lot on his mind; his brother is on hunger strike in prison, Mam and Da fight about the strike and about politics. Fergus is trying to pass his A-levels so he can escape Ireland and live his life in peace, but his brother's friend is trying to enlist him to run things past checkpoints. On top of all of that, Fergus now wants to know who the bog child is and how she died, and finds himself falling for one of the young excavators working on the site.

Bog Child was published after Dowd's untimely death in 2007. In stark contrast to London Eye, I found this book rough and disjointed. The most compelling storylines are political-- the hunger strike and Fergus' casual friendship with a Welsh soldier stationed at the border-- but the inherent drama is not handled well, and the other storylines drop off abruptly. I think the flashbacks were the least effective of all. Given how much I liked London Eye, though, I think I might have to read one more of her books this year... stay tuned.

Ask Me No Questions-- Marina Budhos

Ask Me No Questions deals with so many of the things I care about: the aftermath of 9/11, the day-to-day lives of undocumented youth, and the realities of first-generation immigrants. I am a fan of Marina Budhos, who also cares about these things, particularly the experiences of young people. My close proximity to some of these subjects, as well as my high expectations for Budhos work, made it difficult for me to admit it, but here we are: I was very disappointed in this book.

The protagonist of Ask Me No Questions is 14 year-old Nadira Hossain, who came to the U.S. from Bangladesh when she was very young. Her family's visas have long since expired, and Nadira and her older sister Aisha grow up concealing the fact that they are undocumented. After the rollout of post-9/11 special registration and arrest policies, the family goes to the Canadian border to apply for asylum, but they are turned away and their father is placed in detention. Their mother decides to stay in the border town in a shelter, sending Nadira and Aisha back alone to live with family friends and await their uncertain future. Nadira has always felt inadequate compared to her older sister, but when Aisha succumbs to the pressure of keeping their secret, Nadira realizes it is up to her to see the family through this crisis.

The power of Ask Me No Questions comes from its basis in fact—there were Muslims who sought asylum in Canada after 9/11, immigrant detention remains a common law enforcement practice, and immigration enforcement practices are still haphazard as the court proceedings described in the book. Plenty of this story rings true to me, but without context I can see how the characters and their situation may not be believable. The family’s religious and cultural identities are not explored, and Nadira is the only well-developed character. Furthermore, young readers may not fully remember the radical nature of security policies enacted in the wake of 9/11; without that context, the story would seem like Kafkaesque fiction.

I was willing to overlook those shortcomings, but Ask Me No Questions was ruined for me by something else. To explain, I will have to tell you something about me: sometimes it’s possible to suspend my disbelief, but I am one of those people for whom illusions are easily shattered by technical error. (My own family can attest to this, having suffered through many a loud objection during critical movie scenes.)

It will therefore not surprise you that my belief instantly evaporated when the lawyer and judge talked seriously about the family’s adjustment of status application though, as a matter of law, the family was not eligible for legal permanent residence. Budhos ends the story on a hopeful note, but not one—frankly—that has any basis in reality.

Although a young reader wouldn’t necessarily know that, when combined with the lack of character development, the error gave the whole book a hastily-written and poorly-researched feel. There are people who live like Nadia and Aisha, and I wanted Ask Me No Questions to respect the inherent truth of their stories and do them justice. However, the political message is what drives this book, not the experience of people— bitterly disappointing.

Dogeaters-- Jessica Hagedorn

OK, I made a mistake here. Dogeaters is probably not a young adult book, despite the fact that one of the protagonists is a 10 year-old girl. I have been reading off the beaten path here, and I knew this was bound to happen at some point—I just didn’t imagine it happening quite in this way.

Dogeaters takes place in the Philippines in the 1950s. Said 10 year-old protagonist, Rio, is a great character. Her relationship with her grandmother (“Lola Narcissa”) is particularly touching. Lola would rather spend her time with the servants, eating peasant food, than attending the family’s lavish dinner parties with powerful businessmen and generals as the guests of honor. Rio’s family enjoys a life of privilege, while other characters do what they need to in order to survive. Their lives intersect in a series of events that explore dynamics of power—political, sexual, and cultural.

There is some content here that I think a mature highschooler could handle: one of the chief protagonists earns his living as a prostitute, and there is a particularly disturbing scene involving abuse of a female political prisoner. Also, the writing style is such that I would probably need to re-read the book to fully appreciate it, preferably after doing some independent historical research.

Despite these reservations, Dogeaters is a concentrated wonder of a book. Hagedorn’s writing is rich and evocative, narrated from multiple perspectives and full of vignettes. Her style brings to mind those of authors Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Salman Rushdie—authors who are frequently read in advanced high school and pre-college curricula. I think Dogeaters might be an interesting addition to the reading diet of such readers, who (like me) will find it challenging but also rewarding.

A Taste of Salt-- Frances Temple

Haiti has been in the news, and in the minds and hearts of many, since the earthquake earlier this month. My wonderful friend E— a middle school teacher and social activist— loaned this book to me, and we had a discussion about how she plans to use the book to give her students some context.

Quite honestly, I struggled with A Taste of Salt, and I wondered if younger readers would also. It certainly gives a vivid sense of place, but its historical perspective has not aged well. (I suppose this is the price someone pays for trying to write about emerging democracy—so much for “new chapters.”)

A Taste of Salt takes place amidst the events leading up to Haiti's first free election in decades. Soon-to-be President Jean-Bertrand Aristide’s inspiring words are the so-called “taste of salt”— the legendary cure wakes zombies from their trance and restores them to life. Aristide first appears in the story as the founder of the home for street children where Djo lives. Later, he is the pastor who delivers the sermons that give Jeremie her political awakening.

Djo and Jeremie’s stories make for interesting reading. We see childhoods in a street boys’ home and a neighborhood built on a garbage dump, the religious education system and bonded labor in the Dominican Republic, a firebombing and riots. Destiny, wrought here rather heavy-handedly, designs that Djo and Jeremie will become part of this new era in Haiti together.

That last bit was the rub for me, considering the turn that history took after A Taste of Salt was published in 1992. Basically, if hope is this story’s lifeblood, the whole thing is eviscerated by the corruption, the human rights violations, the coup, and Aristide’s exile to South Africa. The narrative is possessed a sense of history we know to be dead. It is (yes!) a zombie, but there's no waking it-- Jeremie, you should have thought twice before turning down that scholarship to the Sorbonne.

On a much more compassionate note, you can still support the ongoing relief effort-- you can find a great roundup of links here.